B is for Baker Street
by Digikitty
Summary: a series of Sherlock drabbles. Mostly general drabbles, some Johnlock, and a smattering of other pairings thrown in as well.
1. Breakfast

**Author's Note: Its been several years since I have turned my hand to writing, and I fear that I am seriously out of practice. But Sherlock is a series that I enjoy a great deal, and I have wanted to take a try at writing a drabble fic for quite some time. So I hope that you don't find these to be to terrible, and that you enjoy reading them as much as I do writing them. Also, if anyone would care to suggest prompts, I'd be happy to take them.**

Pale beams of sunlight streaked in through the edges of the window where the curtains failed to prevent its entrance, patches of golden light dancing across the floor and part of the bed. One of those patches located itself directly on John's face, causing the man to groan and roll over in a futile attempt to return to the land of sleep. Rarely did he ever sleep in, but he and Sherlock had been up very late last night, and it had **not** been a matter of working on a case.

The thought of the previous night brought a smile to the corner of John's eyes and a contented sigh from his lips. His initial reaction had been shock when Sherlock had suddenly kissed him, but John's shock had very quickly given way to passion and he'd begun responding to that kiss with his own. It had, of course, led them to ending up in Sherlock's bed, his room being much easier to reach when it came down to things.

John stretched his arm out beneath the blanket to catch Sherlock's hand in his own, only to find the other side of the bed completely empty, the sheets cold. John's eyes opened, and he found that he was indeed alone in bed. It wasn't that he hadn't expected Sherlock to be up already, the man rarely slept unless he had to, but John had hoped that after last night, the genius detective wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get up this morning. It looked like he was wrong. And if Sherlock was already up, there really wasn't any point in John lingering in getting up, either.

So when he came out of the bedroom, hair a mess and wrapped in one of Sherlock's dressing gowns – his were upstairs, after all – he was surprised at the sight that awaited him. What he had expected to see was Sherlock sitting at the table, bent over one of his experiments. Yes, Sherlock was sitting at the table, but it had been cleared of all of the beakers and test tubes and other things that often cluttered its surface. Set upon the table instead was a lovely spread of eggs, bacon, toast and jam, and juice.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock said, his lips tipped up at the corners in the merest hint of a smile. "Thought I would make you some breakfast."


	2. Badger

Greg Lestrade stared at the box on his desk with an expression of curiosity mixed with caution. Many would have said that the caution was justified, considering that the post-it note on the box indicated that the box had been placed there by none other than Sherlock Holmes, and that it had something to do with the last case they'd worked on. God only knew what was inside of it, considering that their last case had involved a particularly gruesome double homicide at the zoo, of all places.

For several moments Greg studied the box, wrapped in colorful paper, watching it carefully as if he expected it to sprout wings, or fangs or something. But it did none of those things, of course. He still wasn't keen on opening it, though, so he set the box on top of his filing cabinet, figuring it would be safer to open it at home. He didn't think Sherlock would send him anything that could cause him immediate harm, but it was Sherlock, and Greg felt it would be better for all involved if he didn't put anyone but himself at risk.

All throughout the day, though, the box seemed to call to Greg. Curiosity beckoned him like a siren that he just couldn't ignore. It didn't help that every time someone came into his office, they'd ask him what was in the box, and he'd answer that he didn't know yet, and that it had come from Sherlock. This earned him a few sympathetic smiles from most of those who had entered, and the comment of "just throw it out," from both Sally and Anderson.

Finally, despite his promise to himself that he'd wait until he got home to open it, Greg grabbed the box from off of the filing cabinet and set it down in front of him, carefully pulling away the wrapping paper. Another folded note sat on top of the tissue paper inside the box, which he quickly picked up and read.

'_Lestrade, saw this at the zoo and thought of you. Thought it might cheer you up. –Sherlock'_

Now he was really, curious, and quickly tore aside the tissue paper, wondering just was Sherlock's idea of a cheer-me-up present would be. Greg couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he pulled the stuffed toy out of the box. All dressed up in a suit nearly identical to his own was a grey and silver stuff badger.


	3. Book

Mycroft would never admit it to anyone, but he was the reason a young Sherlock had become obsessed with becoming a pirate. All because one night the older Holmes boy had decided to read 'Treasure Island' to his little brother before bed. And so had started Sherlock's childhood dream of becoming a pirate himself.

Sherlock had treasured that book, favored it among all of the books in his large collection, and it was the only one he'd refused to let go of as he'd grown up, right until he left for Uni. After that point, though, it had vanished, where to he'd never learned. Even a thorough search of the house before striking out on his own had not produced the old book. Probably thrown out by his brother was Sherlock's deduction.

So when Mycroft showed up at 221B one rainy morning with a large folder filled with paperwork – a case for Sherlock that Mycroft himself couldn't be troubled to bother with – the younger Holmes brother was interested to see a wrapped parcel on top of it. Obviously a book of some sort, probably related to the case in question. Boring.

But it was clear that Mycroft was not going to leave, not until Sherlock opened the parcel, at least. Grudgingly Sherlock did so, and found the snarky comment he'd planned on making stuck in his throat. He scowled at Mycroft, his silver-grey eyes flashing with anger at being manipulated once again, but accepted the case file all the same. Mycroft only nodded to his brother and announced that he'd check up on Sherlock's progress later in the day. And to think, all it had taken to get Sherlock Holmes to do as his brother wanted was a worn out, tattered old book.

**AN: Thanks to those of you who put this on your to-follow lists, its nice to know that there are people interested in reading these drabbles. That being said, if anyone would like to suggest a prompt, whether it starts with the letter B or not, feel free to do so!**


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